


Damaged

by purplehairedwonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehairedwonder/pseuds/purplehairedwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[7.14 Tag] It wasn't until the lights were off and Sam's breathing had evened out in sleep that Dean's grin faltered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged

It wasn’t until the lights were off and Sam’s breathing had evened out in sleep in the other bed that Dean’s grin faltered. The TV was on some infomercial with the volume on low, the glow bouncing shadows off Sam’s sleeping form, making him look gaunt and haunted.

Sam had been moving slowly and deliberately on the way back to the motel. He’d hopped in the shower immediately, drawing the humoring Dean line at letting him take pictures of the glitter bomb debris. When Sam had come out of the shower in sweatpants and a towel around his shoulders, Dean had hissed at the ugly marks covering Sam’s skin from the waist up. He’d grabbed the med kit while Sam was scrubbing all trace of clown from his skin and merely nodded toward Sam’s bed.

It was a sign of how spent he was that Sam complied without a word. He lay down on the bed and, after quick triage, Dean determined the worst of the damage was a couple of bruised ribs. Sam was going to be sore as hell and probably have a nasty headache for a few days, but he’d live. That’s what Winchesters did, after all.

Dean wrapped up Sam’s ribs and pulled out some painkillers. Sam downed the pills and gingerly pulled a t-shirt over his head as Dean grabbed some ice packs. He turned the TV on as Dean helped situate him in bed with the ice packs. After trading a few more snarky barbs about clowns and rainbow slinkies—Dean’s resting conveniently on the nightstand between them—Sam had drifted off as the pills took effect.

And Dean was left to his thoughts.

It went without saying that he was fucking proud of his little brother. Sam hadn’t given Dean much in the way of details about the encounter other than there had been two super strong clowns that made _It_ look like a puppy dog flick. And Sam had faced them head on. Sam was living in a nightmare both waking and dreaming, no matter how _fine_ he said he felt. But he had faced his worst fear anyway and come out on top, even able to laugh about it, stubborn son of a bitch that he was.

But his brother’s glittery save hadn’t come for free. The moment Howard had threatened Sam, Dean felt fiery anger and then a cold calm settle over him. The son of a bitch had just threatened—hurt—Sammy. And losing Sam had always been _Dean’s_ biggest fear, though the dense bastard couldn’t have known that. But rather than freak and go off half-cocked like he might once have, Dean had drawn on the fury and pulled the desire for the blood of the danger to his brother over him like armor. And he’d gone to battle, doing what he did best.

When he’d walked into the subbasement, he’d noticed the childish drawings and the picture of the boys at the birthday party. He’d cataloged each item on the workbench, but it wasn’t until Howard started talking that Dean began making connections. Attention to detail had been one of Alastair’s first lessons both on and off the rack. The most insignificant detail could be wielded with more effect—more pain and more precision—than any weapon of Hell or earth if one just knew where to look. Alastair had found those within Dean—fears, insecurities, secrets thought long buried or forgotten—and Dean had found them within the souls he’d tortured.

He’d found them within Howard.

And, like in Hell, he’d enjoyed exploiting it.

Dean once might’ve pitied Howard, losing his brother like that. He understood the guilt, the questioning, and the emptiness that came from that kind of loss. He’d been through it more than once and everyday feared he was coming closer to it again with Sam’s sanity on a precipice.

But the threat to said brother changed everything.

Dean might not enjoy his work the way he had before Hell, but he damn sure enjoyed the panicked expression on Howard’s face when he threw the drawing into the fire. Had he not been pressed for time for Sam’s sake, he would have happily stretched that torment out, letting the bastard squirm for daring to threaten Sam. He’d practically reveled in the sight of the bastard drowning from the inside after what he’d tried to do to Sam.

Sam had sacrificed his life, his sanity, his soul so assholes like Howard could keep on living none the wiser. The douchebag had no idea what Sam had lost for his sake and he had the gall to throw Sam deeper into a waking nightmare.

Sam was the last and best thing in Dean’s life. He’d always come first and always would. And if Dean took pleasure from watching anyone who dared threaten him _burn_ , well, he was a little twisted.

Dean knew he should be disturbed he’d let that side of him out to play after keeping it under lock and key for so long. But looking at his brother, at the darkening bruises on his skin and the tension running through his sleeping body, there was nothing but relief and vindication.

His only regret was that he hadn’t been the one to break Howard. His soul had been broken long before meeting Dean Winchester. Instead, Dean would have to do with sending another damaged soul down to the Pit where it belonged.

As Dean slipped to sleep, he was sure he heard Alastair’s proud laughter ringing in his ears.

_\- fin -_


End file.
